


Something Better

by LyraNgalia



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Angst, Book 9: White Night, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Marriage Proposal, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraNgalia/pseuds/LyraNgalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing changes well laid plans like love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Better

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to evil_little_dog of LJ for the quick beta. Any mistakes found are mine, as I fussed after she gave it back.

The coffee shop was busy, and, for the third time in twenty-two minutes, Thomas wondered if it would have been better to have suggested someplace quieter for this meeting. As soon as the thought occurred to him, Thomas dismissed it. They’d picked the coffee shop precisely because it was bustling, because it would be hard to overhear anything over the din of baristas shouting orders and children clamouring for pastries. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Justine were not normal, not just another couple who could have a quiet, candlelight dinner at an expensive restaurant.  
  
The gloves he still wore were a testament to that fact, the fine leather flexing beneath his nervous grip.  
  
A young woman in a green apron came by again, offering Thomas another refill on his coffee, the fourth time in twenty-two minutes. He was about to wave her off when the Hunger caught her scent, warm and inviting beneath the perfume of coffee, and he turned to her unconsciously. Her breath caught in her throat, and he could see her pulse start to race beneath the soft skin of her throat as the demon inside him reached out instinctively.  
  
But the past year and change had given him practice in denying his Hunger. Thomas shoved it back down, through sheer force of will burying the demon beneath the corruption of his soul. “No, thank you,” he said, clearly enunciating his words as he avoided eye contact with the young woman. Motion and the tinkling of the bell at the door caught his attention, and Thomas paused. “Wait, a slice of your lemon poppyseed cake, and a cup of hot tea, Irish Breakfast. Please.”  
  
Blushing, the young woman nodded and hurried away with her coffee pot, but Thomas barely saw her go, his attention locked on the woman who had walked through the door. She was taller than average, with an ethereal frailty to her that was only enhanced by her graceful carriage. She looked around the room as she shed her heavy coat, revealing a slender form in flattering business attire, and he could see her apprehension, the tiny telltale way she caught her lip between her teeth. But that evaporated the second her eyes met his, transforming her face with such pure, radiant joy that it almost hurt to see.  
  
For one brief moment, Thomas hesitated. The last time he’d seen Justine, she had been frail beyond imagining, had been so close to death the doctor Lara had on retainer wasn’t certain she’d recover. And it had been his fault. For one brief moment, he was afraid of what he might find behind that smile, fear or disgust at the truth of what he was. But there was none of that, nothing but joy and love in her expression as she crossed the room to him, stepping into the circle of his arms as if she had never left.  
  
His hesitation melted away as his arms closed around her. With Justine warm and solid beneath his fingers, her arms wrapped around his back, things felt _right_ , and the dull hungry ache that dogged his steps abated a little. A discreet cough from behind him reminded Thomas of where they were, of why he had asked her here, and he pulled away, holding Justine’s gloved hand in his.  
  
“You came.” The words sounded ridiculous even to his own ear, but it was all he could say, two words for all the doubt, all the fear.  
  
The shine of tears in Justine’s eyes was unmistakable, reminding Thomas that she understood, that she had experienced the same doubts, the same uncertainty, on her way here. And when she spoke, her words were just as simple as his. “I would never stay away.”  
  
Thomas had to laugh then, both relieved and fully aware of how ridiculous this could be if they spent the whole time staring at each other. He pulled the chair out for Justine before sitting down himself, and Justine laughed quietly at the sight of the cake and tea waiting for her, her eyes following him as he sat down. “See, I remember,” he said, unable to keep the affection out of his voice. He had tried for so long to hide it, to deny how he felt about Justine to everyone, including himself, but there was no point now, not when the touch of her skin spoke more truly to the fact than anything else. “In Maui, the first time.”  
  
Justine laughed, the sound like balm to his soul, and shook her head. “The second time,” she teased. She didn't touch the food, but reached her hand across the table for his. “There isn't much time, love,” she reminded him gently. “You said it was urgent.”  
  
The question made all the worry, all the nervousness that Justine's presence had temporarily dispelled rise up again, a knot of tension in the pit of his stomach. Thomas closed his hand over Justine's, careful not to clench too tightly, and spoke, his eyes staring at their entwined hands. “I closed on the property today,” he said, his voice low against the background din. “Have the license, talked to the contractors. Shouldn't be too long before business is up. All it needs is a name.” Every third word or so, he found himself looking up, wanting to read every nuance in Justine's expression, to just drink in the sight of her, but something stopped him, kept his eyes firmly on their hands, on the table, on the cup of coffee.  
  
Her fingers twined with his at the news, her grip reassuring. To say that there was pride in her voice would be an insult. There was such solid _belief_ that Thomas had to meet her eyes. “I knew you could.”   
  
Four simple words. They surged through him in a rush of joy, of courage and strength, invigorating and intoxicating. “Marry me,” he said, all his poetry, all his art, evaporated in a second of reckless abandon. He had planned it out, to broach the subject slowly, but in the face of such love, all his carefully laid plans, all his imperfect words disappeared. Justine looked stunned, uncomprehending, and he raised their twined hands to his mouth, brushing his lips against the warm silk covered knuckles. “Please, love. Marry me.”  
  
The realization that he meant it dawned on Justine's face slowly, her eyes widening as the meaning of his words sank in. And with realization came a brief flash of hope and a deep, weary sadness. “You know we can't, Thomas.” It had cost her something, to say that. He could see it in the line of her body, in the way her other hand rested on top of his, gently prying his fingers from hers. She fairly trembled with tension, as if the only thing holding her back was sheer will. “You need me with Lara. I can do so much for you there.” Her eyes shone with tears, and her voice wavered, but she continued to speak. “It's our plan, remember?”  
  
Thomas resisted the urge to flinch from every word. She was right, and he knew it. They had spent so much time discussing what would happen, had been so careful to keep the extent of Justine's recovery a secret. All to keep her safe, to keep Lara unsuspecting. It _was_ foolish to throw it all away, to throw away Justine's safety by bringing her with him. He knew it, deep down, that she wouldn't say yes. She was too smart to be swayed and strong enough to say no when he was weak enough to ask. It was why he loved her.  
  
It didn't make the ache any less intense, make the emptiness any easier to deal with. “I could take care of us, love. We could go somewhere. New Orleans. Rio. It doesn't have to be Chicago.” There was little hope left in his voice, just a desperate romantic desire to spin a lie, to give Justine the life she deserved instead of the desperate gambit they had chosen. “Give me a year, and we can disappear. Please.” Her hand tightened on his, and her smile was watery as she nodded. They both knew it was a lie. They both knew he would never leave Chicago willingly, not while Harry was there, but it was a little comfort, a little dream to make the hurt easier to bear.  
  
Her hand was warm beneath his, and Thomas wanted nothing more than for that moment to last, to have her next to him, her hand in his, for all of eternity. But he could see a white towncar circling the block and pulled away to sit down at the table, ducking out of view. Justine sat with him, a single tear caught in her thick eyelashes, threatening to fall as she watched him. He couldn't look at her, not with such bittersweet love on her face, and pulled away, fumbling for something in his pocket. It took a moment to draw out the small box and open it, then another to pull off his gloves.   
  
“Thomas...” Her voice was reedy, wavering, as she stared wide-eyed at him, shaking her head. “Please, please don't...”  
  
He said nothing, instead opening the small box with one hand. A simple band gleamed bright within the velvet lining, no gem or engraving marring its perfect surface. There didn't need to be. Not for them. Thomas picked the band up with one hand, the metal cool against his skin, and produced a thin silver chain from his pocket. “I knew you would say no,” he admitted. “But I had to ask.” He slipped the ring onto the chain and carefully reached behind Justine, fastening the chain around her neck. He moved deliberately, mindful of his bare skin and hers, as he lowered the chain against her skin. The moment it brushed against her skin, Thomas let go, the scent of singed flesh faint but detectable to him.  
  
“You should go. Lara will get suspicious.”  
  
Justine nodded, reaching for his face with silk covered fingers. Her touch was feather-light and achingly familiar. He wanted nothing more than to lean into it, to press as much skin as possible against her hand. “I love you.” His jaw worked but no words came out, and Justine seemed to understand. She smiled and nodded, rising in one fluid motion. Without another word, she turned and headed for the door.  
  
They never said goodbye.


End file.
